The Avatar Games
by SkinOfInk
Summary: "The games and Avatar..." Head gamemaker Evintra Thisp never thought she would get caught up in a centuries old tv show about people bending the elements. But 23 tributes will pay the price for it anyway. With Avatar The last Airbender as its inspiration, this year's games are sure to be deadlier than ever. SYOT OPEN.
1. The Neverending Games

**AN:** _Hey! This is an SYOT if you haven't noticed, and one based on ATLA at that! I suppose you could read it without watching the series, but it would be much less awesome. Anyways, the tribute form will be down below. Please submit tributes via PM, as I've heard that any other way is against the rules of fan fiction. I hope you guys all enjoy, review, and please submit tributes! Oh, and thanks to __**nightfuries**__ who kind of inspired this, and encouraged me to publish it!_

* * *

The larger boy swung wildly with his sword, backing his opponent into the sticky trap of the swamp.

"Time to DIE Canter!" he yelled savagely, thrusting his sword forward. The younger District 2 boy in question gasped and managed to duck just in time, falling down on the last bit of land before ground transitioned into thick slop. His adversary took more time now, twirling his sword deftly in one hand while the other swiped through his mop of brown hair. His hand came away wet, but it wasn't with blood or water. It was with sweat.

Canter panted, almost hyperventilating. He started to lift himself up on his elbows. The larger boy saw this as an opportunity to strike and lunged toward him, but at the last second, the younger opponent pressed his back into the ground, and flipped the larger person over his head with his feet. There was a tiny fraction of time during all this, where Canter saw the face of his attacker just before he plunged headfirst into the swamp. It was a look of pure terror, terror he'd never seen before on his District 1 ally's face. Make that former ally.

Canter stood up quickly, staggered more like it, and let out a sound that was part shriek, part laughter, as he saw his former attacker trying to break free of the swamp's unrelenting grip. The boy managed to stick his head out, and the muck around him stuck so that it formed a skintight layer over his head. He gasped for breath, and this time Canter truly laughed. He laughed even as he drew a throwing knife from his side, and launched it with an expert arm at the boy struggling in the swamp. The cannon was like music.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the 19th annual Hunger Games, Canter Harmon!"

* * *

A relieved sigh and several chuckles could be heard throughout the floor of the gamemaker's headquarters. Some smiled as they positioned the cameras for a final shot of the new victor. Others actually got up and gave each other awkward hugs, the kinds of hugs you give colleagues you don't really like.

The only person who didn't break into a wide smile was Evintra Thisp, head gamemaker. She did allow herself a small grin though, almost as a reward for the work gone into this year's games. The furry crocodile mutts were a touch she was especially proud of, though they were proving a bit rebellious in tearing into the body of the now deceased district 1 boy.

"Somebody activate the controller chips in those mutts," she barked out from her platform overseeing the control floor. "We can't have the poor boy return to his district in pieces." She smiled at this joke, as several had already been returned as ashes, due to the particularly nasty fire-breathing vulture mutts they had added in right after the bloodbath. A few of her fellow gamemakers even chuckled.

"Terrorizing innocent children again sis?" a husky voice behind Evintra called. She stiffened noticeably, not to say that she wasn't stiff already.

"Actually, the games have just ended," she replied as she glared at her employees, who had stopped smiling the moment her brother had entered the room. One of them must have given him an access card to the gamemaker's headquarters. He always stayed out in the lounge, at least, if Evintra had anything to say about it. She would deal with them later. "You have missed the finale," she continued.

"Aw shucks, it's not like they don't have a TV screen in the lounge or anything…" He trailed off in silent mockery of her forgetfulness, and walked around so that she had to face him. Evintra cringed, though she tried to hide it. Her brother had no fashion sense whatsoever. In addition to that, he was a careless slob, if there were any other kind. There also seemed to be a large grease stain on the front of his shirt that Evintra kept fixating on, even though it made her slightly queasy.

"Anyways, want to know how big a windfall I got on this year's_ festivities_?" he wiggled his eyebrows at her and grinned, while scratching his protruding stomach. Evintra tried in vain to focus on the greasy clumps his hair made as it hung to his shoulders. They were a bit cleaner than the rest of him.

"I have work to do," she replied in a monotone, very aware of the other gamemakers watching this all going on. She really was going to kill one of them for giving him a key, or maybe it was the guards…

"1,204,000 marks!" he shouted. Everyone jumped. "Yeah baby! You know it!" Evintra clamped her mouth down on the bitter insult she was already thinking, and secured a hand around her brother's sweaty arm in an effort to silence him.

"No one cares about your conned winnings," she snapped. "We are respectable people here. There is no room for criminals. No room for _bookies, Damien_." She hissed the last two words. Her brother shrugged nonchalantly.

"There's nothing illegal about my profession. If there were, you wouldn't be letting me stay at your place now would you?" Evintra blushed a dark red. She released Damien with a shove.

"Guards, escort my brother out," she said in a clipped voice. Damien chuckled good naturedly as two armored guards approached him, and picked him bodily off the ground by his armpits.

"Careful sis, wouldn't want to make a scene now would you?" he quipped. The doors shut with a swish behind him.

Evintra breathed a sigh of utter relief. Then she realized everyone was staring at her. "What are you all looking at?" she said loudly. "Get back to work!" They continued to stare at her, uncomprehending.

"Um…the games are over," one male gamemaker spoke up. The others stared at him askance. No one laughed, all seeming to draw a collective, horrified breath. The man in question shrank down in his chair as if trying to disappear. Evintra still felt the embarrassment work its way up her face, however. The man who had spoken up was Kez, one of the floor workers for the scenery department. She had always hated Kez.

"Everyone go home," she said evenly, embarrassment washing away to be replaced by a savage anticipation. Her gaze focused on this new target. "Everyone except Kez."

* * *

"Don't you have somewhere to _go_?" Evintra snapped as she stomped through her apartment door and found her brother lounging on the couch. He had made himself a nest of sorts out of blankets and old bags of food from his former residence. Evintra would never dare to keep such grease in her kitchen, though Damien always seemed to find a way around her standards.

"I toldja sis, they kicked me out because I made too much noise!" he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing. His eyes stayed fixated on the TV screen as he said this though, a personal pet peeve of Evintra's.

"Why don't you turn off that junk on the TV and look me in the eyes?" she snapped, making her way to a stiff chair purposefully placed as far away from Damien's couch as possible. "You've already stayed here two days, can't you find some other house to squat in with your newfound cash?"

Damien rolled his eyes, still not taking them off the TV in front of him, which in Evintra's house, took up the entire wall. "This is not junk, this is _art_," he proclaimed solemnly. Then his face lit up as a logo popped up on screen. What followed was a white background with a weird symbol like three wavy slashes on it, underneath which it said: Book one- water, and then, chapter two- The Avatar Returns.

"Previously, on _Avatar_," Damien said along with the program, imitating the voice's slight accent.

"What is_ this?!_" Evintra cried. "Some half-baked, lousy old show from ancient times? How is my screen even playing this?" She could almost feel herself shaking with anger. Damien frowned at her as the screen flashed a bunch of different scenes of a frozen wasteland and some sort of metal ship.

"I modified it," he said simply. "And don't slam perfection, you'll only look like a fool."

"But-!"

"SHHHHhhhhh!" Damien put a finger to his lips, sending spittle flying her way. "Just sit back and enjoy. Trust me, you will. If you don't watch, I will stay on this couch until you quit your job. _Not even to go to the bathroom_." Damien looked at her seriously as he said this. It freaked her out, even more than the remark about staying, which was saying something.

Evintra settled down enough to watch the show, which started out with two kids, a boy and a girl, reaching a tiny village in the ice. The bald boy with an arrow on his head got kicked out for drawing attention to their village. Everyone was apparently very afraid of the "Fire Nation" which they seemed to be at war with. Evintra frowned as the boy spun himself up on top of a large furry animal, seemingly defying the laws of gravity. After this, Evintra found herself sucked more and more into the show, even laughing at fight scenes where the pony-tail guy called Prince Zuko got hit in the head with a boomerang.

When the show ended with Sokka, his sister Katara, and the new recently discovered avatar Aang flying on their "bison" Appa, Evintra was very surprised by what she did next.

"Can we…watch the next one?" she asked quietly, stealing a glance at Damien's smirking face. His smile widened.

"Knew you were related to me," he said, and turned on the next episode with a voice command.

Evintra was in awe. Never had a television show so sucked her in and made her laugh. She had never been on the edge of her seat before, except for the games of course. At this comparison, the gears in Evintra's well-oiled mind started to whir. The games and Avatar…

They had a marathon that night. Damien just started playing one episode after another, eventually falling asleep when Sokka got kidnapped by a vengeful spirit. Evintra kept watching. And watching. And watching. She finished book 1 around six in the morning.

Damien awoke to Evintra tapping on her holographic computer, which was projected from a chip imbedded in her arm. His sister was typing furiously, not even stopping to turn the TV off, which was frozen on the menacing face of a girl with two strands of hair on either side of her face.

"Aaahhh! Azula!" Damien yelled when he saw this, jumping slightly on the couch and making the empty bags and boxes on it rattle. Evintra's head snapped up.

"Damien, you're up?" she asked. Damien nodded groggily. He always felt a little slow in the morning.

"Good," she continued in a monotone. "I'll need to ask you a few questions then." Damien barely got a breath in before Evintra started.

"Where did you find this show? Is it popular? Are there more seasons, I mean books? Do you have them?" She said each thing with a clipped conciseness that left Damien baffled.

"Um…I found it on auction at this really rundown place…no one wanted it since it didn't run on the modern TV's. And yeah, I have all three books." Damien looked his sister up and down to make sure she was feeling alright. He'd only seen her this worked up when she was working on the games. Oh wait, that was all the time.

"And the popularity? How well known is it?" Evintra insisted.

"Um…I guess a few people. It's not really popular. Not enough sets that can play a DVD or whatever it's called. They all run on holochips." Evintra nodded and seemed to frown a bit. She shut her computer off without once looking back at Damien, and pushed a button on a device at the back of her ear.

"Give me Titania please," she said standing up, beginning to pace. "Yes, the head of GamoNet TV. I need to talk to her." There was a pause. "Tell her it's Evintra." Another pause. "Thank you."

Damien watched all this with a look of utter confusion on his face. He eventually stretched on his couch and got up to scrounge something for breakfast, but not until he heard something that he was sure either excited him, or scared him.

"Yes that's right. I need you to start streaming the episodes of Avatar the Last Airbender," Evintra enunciated each word slowly. "I'll send you the data. I just need the populace prepped and anticipating. This year's games will revolve pretty heavily around that show. Yes I am fully aware you have no idea what I'm talking about. No, I am not crazy to keep working without a break." There was a pause. "No, whatever doubts you have are trivial. This year's games are sure to go off splendidly. Just so long as you do your part." Evintra smiled, and leisurely hung up. Damien shivered.

* * *

**Tribute Form**

**Full name/nickname:**

**Age:**

**District (top two):**

**Overall appearance (including gender, just in case):**

**Personality:**

**Trained? How?:**

**Backstory:**

**Family:**

**Friends:**

**Hobbies (what do they do normally?):**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses/fears:**

**Preferred weapon (it can be nothing):**

**Reaped or volunteered? If volunteered, why?:**

**Firebender, waterbender, airbender, earthbender, or nonbender?:**

**Character in series they are like (strictly optional, just if you have a certain likeness in mind, and it could help me flesh out the character):**

**Token and the story behind it:**

**Allies? (whether you would want them to or not):**

**Romance? (same as above):**

**Anything else you can think of:**

_If you have any questions on answering the form, or any questions whatsoever, don't hesitate to PM me. I will always try to respond!_


	2. President Snow

**A/N:** _Hey guys, sorry if you were waiting for a long time. Tributes have been few and far between, so don't forget to submit! I pretty much have district one, the females for district two, three, and eleven, and the males from five, six, and nine concrete. The rest can be moved or haven't been taken yet. You can find the form on the previous chapter. Hope everyone is enjoying this so far!_

* * *

Evintra sat in a swivel chair, glancing over work the stylists had sent her at one of the conference tables in the gamemaker's headquarters. Some of her fellow gamemakers sat around her, staring at the pictures as well. One of them blew up an image on the touchscreen top, making it so that they could see every tiny detail.

"I like this one," the woman declared. The others murmured assent and disagreement, none making their opinion clear. "Well?" she asked, looking expectantly at everyone. "Can we use it?" Everyone muttered something noncommittal and looked over towards Evintra at the head of the table. The head gamemaker looked away, waving them on. She pressed her finger into her ear, like she was tuning them all out.

"Why don't you guys say anything?" the female gamemaker who had spoken up before asked, getting slightly annoyed. They all turned as one to look at her.

"You're new aren't you?" one gamemaker said, pointing accusingly at her. She blushed.

"Um, yes, I replaced Kez."

"Then let me explain to you how things work," he interrupted. "Just so you don't get killed, you know." The man glanced over at Evintra, who apparently wasn't paying any attention at all to the mini-meeting going on behind her back. "We don't voice our opinions. We don't talk out of turn. Basically, we're just here to nod and look supportive of whatever _she_ says." He jerked a finger towards Evintra. "It's for your own good."

"But-!"

"No!" The man broke in. "Or do you want to find out what happened to your predecessor first hand?" The woman shook her head emphatically and seemed to shrink, blending into the crowd. Everyone sighed and looked towards Evintra expectantly. The head gamemaker took her finger off her ear.

"That was the president," she said quickly, standing up. Everyone else made a move to go as well, but Evintra waved for them to sit down. "I just have to go meet with him for a second, finish up without me." With that, she swept herself out of the room without a backward glance. All the gamemakers relaxed.

"What do we do now? Choose?" the new girl asked. Everyone rolled their eyes.

"No," the man from before replied. "That just means we can go, she'll come back at one in the morning and finish up." Everyone started to stand.

"Wait!" the woman cried. "Why don't we just choose a design?" the man laughed, along with all the other gamemakers.

"Trust us," another said. "Even if we did pick, it would be wrong. She'd end up choosing something different. 'Cuz with Evintra…" he paused, and all the gamemakers exchanged smirks. "What somebody else does, she can do better."

"It's true too!" the man from before piped up. With that, they all left, chatting and laughing and talking about how cute their little children were. Only the new girl stayed behind, looking at the sketches. They were all suits of some kind, and each had an underlay of mechanics and wires and tubing running through it. One looked like a wet suit, another a military uniform. They each looked so different, from their color schemes to their design. They had absolutely nothing in common. Except for a little note at the top of each. That said "BENDER" in all caps. In parenthesis were either earth, water, fire, or air. The woman sighed and spread each one out so it was evenly spaced across the table. She took a step back and looked hard at each, deciding.

"I know!" she said aloud. "We'll just use them all!" With that, she circled the lot.

* * *

Evintra sighed as she hurried around her apartment, collecting all the physical files and sketches she had drawn out. Her bedroom was an absolute pigsty, though she had no idea how it had ended up like that. Evintra's fingers twitched as she held all of her papers, debating whether or not she had enough time to clean up. Evintra groaned as she reasoned with herself.

"It _is_ the president," she finally decided, and turned to leave.

"Whoa!" Damien shouted as Evintra bumped into him on her way out. He dropped the apple-orange crossbred fruit in his hand and rushed to pick it up off the floor.

"Brother…" Evintra said, her face falling. She was about to rush past him when she stopped and put a hand on her doorframe. "What are you doing here…exactly?"

"Well, I may or may not have been using this room as my own, but I don't think you can prove anything," Damien said, taking a bite out of the dropped fruit. Evintra cringed.

"It's _my_ room Damien, don't you dare," Evintra growled, trying not to have a repeat of the numerous fights she'd had with her brother when they were both too young to go to school. Damien rolled his eyes.

"It's not your room if you don't use it." Evintra blushed.

"I have slept in the room..." Evintra trailed off, thinking back to when she had last actually slept at home. Nothing came to mind. She had always been working. Evintra growled "I don't have time for our usual petty quarrel, I have to meet with the president!" she snapped, striding past the man. Damien turned around, jogging to catch up with her.

"Wait! The president?!" Damien shouted. Evintra nodded curtly, already halfway out the front door. Damien put on a burst of speed and caught up with her, stopping her with a greasy hand.

"Wait, Evintra, why are you going to the president's?" She frowned. Not only had Damien actually called her by her real name, he seemed rather serious, and a bit worried. Who was this person? He wasn't the brother she'd known all her life.

"Damien…" Evintra started, growing irritated. "It is none of your business!" She made a move to go, but Damien's grip on her shoulder tightened. She was almost starting to get scared now.

"Evintra, why?" Damien insisted. She sighed.

"He just wants to talk about my plans for the games, he's heard some rumors. That's all." Damien seemed to let a breath out, but his grip on Evintra's arm was just as tight as he stared at her intently.

"Evintra, no matter what he says…just be strong, and don't believe a thing if you don't know it for certain." Evintra rolled her eyes.

"What are you saying?"

"Just…be careful," Damien finished, and released her, retreating back down the hallway, probably to sleep in her room. Evintra sighed. She just didn't care anymore.

* * *

Evintra walked up to the towering skyscraper in the center of the Capitol that served as the federal government for all of Panem. Really, it was state and town and district and everything else rolled into one. Evintra stared up at the glass building, which twisted slightly on its way up past the clouds. She sighed. She had once wanted to work there, wanted it more than anything. Arguably, she had the better job now, but that was up for debate.

"Time to see the President," Evintra muttered, and turned left, past the governmental center and towards a glamorous modern mansion.

A crowd of people already swamped the entrance, but when the Capitolites caught sight of Evintra, she became the center of attention.

"Miss Thisp! Miss Thisp! Evintra!" some reporters screeched at her. The other people were all smiling and clamoring for her as well, though they dared not to get too close, not with the President's personal guards keeping a watchful eye on everything.

Evintra ignored the hubbub with ease and walked gracefully toward the mansion, the guards opening the heavy gates for her themselves, while keeping others out. Evintra had been here many times over the course of her four year career, enough times for every single person on the President's staff to know her on site. Being head gamemaker led to high up connections. Very high up indeed.

"Welcome Miss Thisp," the president's assistant said, opening the door before the device implanted in the wood had time to decide whether she was worthy to enter or not. He must have been watching from inside, waiting.

"I thought the door was now self-opening, Garrison?" Evintra asked, narrowing her eyes and clutching her papers tightly. Why didn't she bring a briefcase? Oh, that's right, Damien.

"President Snow is always one to value human strength over technology," Garrison replied promptly, straightening the already straight collar on his uniform jacket.

"I'm sure he is," Evintra said, and swept herself down the hall, spine just a little straighter than it had been when she'd first entered.

Evintra made her way with practiced steps over to the President's office. It was at the very back of the mansion where there was a spectacular view of the entire city, probably why he'd put it there in the first place. To keep watch. Evintra opened the door, not bothering to knock.

"You wanted to see me Snow?" she asked, stepping into the ornate, wood paneled room.

"Evintra!" the elderly man cried, smiling and standing up. The President was slightly overweight, and looked a bit older than the last time she'd seen him. His gray hair was now streaked with white, and he was dressed in a thick, brocade robe. The President offered her a glass of wine.

"You're late, m'dear," he said, the hint of a threat in his voice. Evintra accepted the glass, and they both sat down at his desk. She put the papers down on the surface and spread them out.

"I'm sorry President Snow, I was…held up at home," The President rolled his eyes.

"I've told you time and again Evintra! It's _Gregario_. Not in public of course, but when it's just you and me…"

"I…don't understand sir," Evintra said, trying to focus on the papers. Why did she get the feeling this meeting wasn't really about them? "Why did you take up the surname Snow then, when you took up office? I know you have a different last name." Gregario laughed.

"Silly, silly Evintra," he replied with a smile. "You want to know why I picked Snow? Well I'll tell you." He sat back in his chair, setting down his wine and letting his hands rest on his stomach. "Snow is like a nice, pure white blanket. It covers everything evenly; it hides all the differences and makes things new. Best of all, it makes everything _uniform_. And that's our goal."

"It is?"

"Of course! Do you know what will happen when I die?" Gregario leaned forward seriously. Evintra was taken aback.

"Um…die?"

"Yes. Not all humans are young and beautiful forever you know." He laughed. "When I die, my predecessor will take up the surname Snow. It will be as I'd never even died in the first place. There will be no funeral either, no nothing. It will all take place as seamlessly as if I had gone on living."

"Is all this really necessary...sir?" Evintra asked, fidgeting slightly.

"Oh yes. If the Districts think that the President can change, how long before they think their own lives can too? With a new leader comes new possibilities, and mortality as well. They think we can be killed. It's best not to give them too much hope." Gregario leaned back, satisfied. "This leads us to the reason I called you over."

"Wasn't it to…"

"Later m'dear, later. I've just told you that change can lead to complications, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but-!"

"But nothing! Change can lead to complications, right? So _why_." He leaned toward her dangerously. "Are you changing up the games?"

Evintra sat, rigid in her soft, cushiony seat. It was all thought out, each detail of his speech. He'd known exactly where this conversation had been going the moment she'd entered the room. She felt her heart beat slow down as she tried to control herself. She was Head gamemaker. She _was_ Head gamemaker.

"The games are not really changing President," Evintra said carefully. "There will still be a winner, 23 losers, the arena, everything. It will just be a little more…exciting." Gregario leaned back at this, contemplating everything. He started to look over the sketches again.

"You know Evintra, I can see your point. Though I'm all for keeping up the status quo, I am getting a bit bored, and it's not even the Quarter Quell yet! And this does seem very interesting..." He glanced up, a sharp look in his eyes. "Have you watched the show?"

"Hm? Avatar the Last Airbender? Of course sir!"

"I have a problem with it," Gregario continued. "The kids in the show are fighting this…Fire Nation, are they not?"

"Yes…" Evintra trailed off.

"That's an open act of rebellion. By children. All this talk of children fighting seems an awful lot like the games, doesn't it?" Evintra began to sweat. She felt like shivering, but she had to hold herself together. Damien's words from earlier echoed in her head. _Be careful_.

"Don't worry sir. The districts are not being shown the show, so the idea of rebellion will never enter into their heads once they are shown the games. We also have plans to end the show in the Capitol before the actual finale, so that the rebellion against the Fire Nation is thought to never succeed. It is all taken care of." Evintra relaxed as she spoke, as if she could sense herself regaining control of the situation.

"I see," The President said, and turned around. "The sketches are promising. Keep doing what you're doing."

"Very good President Snow," Evintra said. She gathered her things and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Evintra?" Gregario broke in. "About the keeping rebellion in the districts under control? Just _be careful_." He said the last two words in a low, menacing voice, then broke into a smile. "Bye for now!"

Evintra left in a hurry. She was shuddering openly now as Garrison opened the door for her. He was smiling as well.


	3. District 1 Reapings

**A/N: **_And the first reapings are here! Finally! I still need tributes though, so if you haven't yet, submit! Right now I have: D1, D2 female, D3 female, D7 female, D5 male, D6 male, D9 male. The rest is wide open. Thanks to all my reviewers, and especially those who submitted. I hope you like this, and please, don't hesitate to give me suggestions to make this story better. Enjoy!_

* * *

**District 1 Isis Jane McKinney, 16**

* * *

I grasp the hilt of the dagger in my slim, pale hand. It feels good, like it was meant to be there. I look up at my target, and without even thinking, lunge towards the electronic dummy. It lifts it's sword to slice me in half and brings it down with superhuman force, but I am already behind it. I stab it in the back and rip upwards with a grunt. It drops to the ground, sparking.

"That was a good one Isis!" A voice behind me says. I turn to look into the bright, eager eyes of my best friend, Katie Mae, who is currently glancing over at me from her spot at the sword fighting station. We are the only two in the training center, the cool pre-dawn air chasing away any fatigue I had when we first arrived.

"Oh yeah?" I reply, already powering up the next dummy in line.

"Definitely! You're way better than the girl who volunteered last year," Katie says, dropping her sword and walking over to watch me.

"You don't say?" I smile and slash downward at the dummy's legs before it can lift its mace. It loses its balance and falls forward, right into my waiting knife. I smile; that's the tenth dummy I've dismantled this morning. I walk around the training area to deposit the dummy's remains in the waste bins. Katie trails behind, talking nonstop about the games.

"…I just wonder who's gonna volunteer, you know?" she continues. "I mean, I just don't think _I'm_ ready yet! I can barely decapitate all the dummies in five minutes, and that's not nearly as good as some of the other girls. What do you think? It's just…it would be sooo amazing to win!" I sigh after Katie's long tangent, putting the knives away in their designated compartment in the training center. Katie likes to ramble.

"Well, I think I'll head out now," I say eventually, walking towards the large double door.

"Really? But we just got here!" Katie says disappointedly, lingering behind.

"Yeah," I reply. "My mom gets mad if I'm up too early on reaping day, you know, all those cameras on you and everything? Wouldn't want to look like you just rolled out of bed." Katie smiles at this.

"Does that mean you're volunteering?" she squeaks excitedly. "I know what I said about myself, but you…you can beat anyone with a knife! So waddaya think?"

"Oh, I don't know…I mean I'm only sixteen, right? Might as well wait until I'm at my peak." Katie rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, giving me a look that tells me she doesn't accept this explanation.

"I can't believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now Isis! Since when do you wait?" She smirks at me.

"Alright already! I guess I could volunteer…" I say hesitantly as I walk out of the training center, leaving Katie to finish up on her own. I'd never tell her the real reason I'm not sure about volunteering, the reason that makes me seem weak and afraid. Because being weak earns you pity. I am the daughter of Katherine McKinney, victor of the third hunger games. I'm not supposed to need pity.

I take the long way home to victor's village, racing and weaving through the trees, leaping over dead ones and scrambling up a good sized hill. I always take this route, winding and difficult as it is. It's kind of like a personal test, training even when I'm not at the center. When I get to the top of the hill, I stand up and watch the last of the sun emerge from the limit of the horizon. I usually get up before dawn to train, and even though I always say it's for the extra time, I think a big part of the reason is this view I'm staring at right now.

The remains of the sunrise throw reddish gold light across the early morning sky, a color I like to think mimics the hair falling to my shoulders. People always think it's a plain old strawberry blonde, but that just sounds so ordinary. The color I'm thinking of is much more romantic.

I manage to make it to my house without alerting any of the neighborhood residents to my presence. My mom talks to all of them, and they'd definitely tell her about me. I don't need her worrying about me on top of all the others who keep telling us they're sorry about my dead dad. My father was supposedly killed in the third hunger games, the one my mother won. They kind of…"got together" the night before the interviews, falling in love over the whole course of the games. It's pretty sweet if you think about it.

I sneak onto the back porch, feet soft on the sturdy boards. I open the door as quietly as possible, making sure nothing creaks, and close it just as stealthily. I turn around with a sigh, only to realize my parents are sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at me. I freeze. And yes, I do mean par_ents_. Because my dad isn't dead, although the look he's giving me suggests that I'm about to be.

The thing is…my father was supposed to die during the hunger games, and he did die according to the Capital. My father had a different plan in mind. He and my mother made it to the final battle, managing to kill every single one of their remaining opponents, until it was just the two of them. This may have been the Capital's plan all along, since they love it when two paramours are pitted against each other, but I guess I'll never know. My father decided not to play by their rules. As a career, my father had trained for his entire life in combat, martial arts, and weaponry. He had full control over his body, and he knew this, so in a last ditch effort to be with the woman he loved, he managed to fully stop his heart. To the entire world, and certainly to the Capital's sensors, it appeared that my father had simply keeled over, dead at the prospect of fighting his lover. After the body was brought up in the hovercraft, with the sounds of my mother's screams still fresh in his ears, my father restarted his heart.

Nothing of the sort had ever happened in Hunger Games history, and probably never would again. The Capital couldn't just put my father back down into the arena, he'd probably just pull the same stunt, and they didn't want it to look as if they'd made a mistake. The people in the hovercraft did the only thing they could think of. They called the president.

I've heard President Snow is a bit of an oddball. He's gotten soft in his old age, but when he was younger during the third games, he was always searching for some new sort of thrill. I guess he kind of got that from my father's survival, so instead of just executing my father discreetly and pretending he'd died of a broken heart all along, Snow decided to let my father live. The catch was that he had to do it under house arrest, and with a promise to make sure no one but the immediate family knew that he was alive. This meant living a secluded existence. I can't have friends over, in fact, no one can come over to our house, period. I haven't ever met my grandparents, though my mother used to point them out to me when they came by our house. They've stopped coming recently. All this flashes through my mind as my father is giving me the evil eye.

"Mind telling us where you've been young lady?" he asks, slowly getting up from the couch and crossing over towards me. Mom turns around to face me as well.

"Um…I was just out for a walk, to see the sunrise," I answer quickly. Then I realize that training early is not really what I'm in trouble for.

"Isis, you can't run off on reaping day! Haven't we been over this before?" my mother breaks in, looking concerned.

"Isis, we just need to know where you are. You can't sneak off like this. It might draw undue attention to the family, and you know what that means." Dad gives me a long hard look, but it only serves to make me mad.

"What's it to you if I get some extra training time?" I snap, crossing my own arms. My dad sighs.

"So that's where you were…no matter. If someone decides to go snooping around, we can't have you sticking out. Our end of the deal with the President was to keep out of the way, make sure no one knows I'm alive, and by God, we can't very well do that if you draw attention to the family!"

"I can't believe you guys are freaking out about this!" I yell. "If I'm going to volunteer this year, a little extra training isn't going to hurt!" My parent's faces go slack at my words.

"You're…volunteering?" mom asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," I say with renewed vigor. If they're so worried about me, wait until I win the games and show them they don't need to baby me.

"Isis…are you sure you don't want to wait until you're eighteen?" dad adds.

"Are you saying I'm not good enough to win?" I snap back.

"No! We just want to make sure…"

"I can't believe this!" I yell. My parents wince at the loud noise. "Thanks for the _support_!" I storm out of the room without looking back, my mind only focusing on my newfound conviction to volunteer today, and more importantly, to win.

* * *

**District 1 Korrin Shandly, 17**

* * *

I wake up in a cold sweat, sitting up from the forest floor. I find that someone's covered me in a blanket, and kick it off, not liking the constricting feeling. Was that what woke me up?

"Korrin!" a voice says directly behind me. I jump, stumbling to my feet and turning myself around as quickly as possible.

"Infliment," I groan, taking in the sight of the doctor in his pristine white lab coat. What's he doing all dolled up in the wild? "Don't you have any other orphans to help?" I snap. Mr. Deriad Infliment sighs heavily, running a hand through his thin brown hair. He's been trying to help me with my…problem, ever since before the accident, even though I don't need help. He seems to think I'm blocking things out. I really just want to block _him_ out.

"Korrin, I just thought you might need someone to make sure you don't oversleep on reaping day. And you were shivering, so I brought you…" he glances down at the crumpled mess of fabric and picks it up, gingerly brushing it off. I shrug off my guilt.

"You can stop 'helping' me doc. You aren't getting any money, not anymore." I put my hands in what is left of my pockets. Deriad rubs his tired face, forgetting that he's still holding the dirty blanket.

"Pyromania is a big-"

"I don't have a problem!" I snap, becoming fed up with this stuffy doctor and his false concern. "I haven't had an episode in years, I'm fine." Deriad doesn't seem to believe me.

"I'm only trying to help you get past this thing! You might have some sort of psychological block, some trauma from the incident…" I tense.

"The incident isn't important!" I shout. "And what are you, some sort of psychologist? You don't even know me! So do me a favor and _leave me alone_!" With that, I take off into the forest, down a hill, ignoring Deriad as he calls after me halfheartedly. Stupid doctor, doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm fine! Totally, totally fine. I just don't like the dark, or the cold, or the cramped. Naturally, I'd want to…remedy those situations. And who was he to bring up the incident? That stuff's buried, dead and gone. All because of a stupid mistake.

I still remember when the problem started, or at least when I think it started. I was playing with some friends in the snow on top of one of the hills in District one when I was six. We were trying to build a fort, I remember that much. We made a huge pile of snow on top of the hill, and I decided to work on the inside, digging a hole and working to expand the interior. One of my "friends" then also decided that it would be "totally rad and_ awesome_" to jump on top of the pile of snow while I was still inside. Needless to say, the whole thing collapsed.

I don't know how long I stayed trapped inside the snow. It could have been hours, days, _weeks_. Well, maybe not weeks, but it was definitely a long time. All I can remember thinking is that I would never get out, that I would stay trapped in that world of cold. And it was so cold, so constricting. Everything was closing in around me, freezing my very limbs. Ever since then, I've had…a problem. Well not anymore really. It's under control now. I just like to set things on fire sometimes. I'm really okay.

I slow down when I reach the edge of the town, which is just starting to get decorated. I glance around at all the classy buildings and expensive mansions. Once upon a time, seven years ago, I used to live in a house like the ones I see before me now. That was a long time ago.

Before I walk into the town, I take in my appearance (don't want to scare the locals). I'm wearing the same clothes I got from one of the guys in school last week, and it only smells like I slept in it twice, which is pretty good. It's short-sleeved though, which reminds me of that tiny little problem Deriad likes to talk about all the time. Why? It shows the scars. The ones on my arms aren't too bad, just angry red streaks from when I messed up with the matches when I was younger, and occasionally when I got too close to the flames. The larger ones are across my left calf, and on my chest. Those are from the accident. But it's no problem, I can just wear pants and refuse to take my shirt off when swimming. No one in school knows about them, though they do look at me funny when I come to school wearing pants in eighty degree weather.

I walk into town, an easy grin sliding across my face as I look for someone I know who's up early for the reapings. I spy Gander walking along near the edge of the town square, a shiny new apple clutched in his hand as he admires the capital decorators directing their work crews. I quickly walk toward him and a few of the other guys surrounding him, taking long, easy strides. My stomach rumbles.

"Goose!" I say, putting a hand on his shoulder and patting it good naturedly. I thump one of the other guys on the back. They all turn toward me, away from the Capital people and their very necessary and important work.

Gander smirks at me, tossing the apple up into the air repeatedly. "Korrin!" he says. "We all expected you to show up late!"

"Like you always do!" one of the guys breaks in. They laugh, and I go along with it.

"Sorry to make you all lose money on bets," I say easily, shoving my hands back into my pockets. "You know how I _hate_ to disappoint."

"Actually, we were-" Gander begins.

"-going to give me that?" I finish for him, swiping the apple out of the air and taking a bite. He blushes furiously. I wipe the juice off of my mouth, trying not to let it show how much the food means to me. I don't think I've eaten anything since I swiped some stuff off of people's lunches yesterday. "Thanks," I say to Gander with my mouth full of apple. Since, you know, he's so generous.

"No problem," Gander replies somewhat icily. He returns his attention back to the group, who are all laughing at my latest escapade. "Anyways, were any of you guys thinking of volunteering? Cuz I might." He takes a moment to self-consciously check his biceps, probably to see if they're still there.

"Korrin should volunteer!" one of the guys says.

"Yeah! Korrin!" another cries.

"Now, now, my loyal followers!" I break in, seeing that Gander is looking uncomfortable. And I wouldn't want him to feel that now would I? "The games are a big deal!" I hold out my hands to silence the laughter. "We wouldn't want someone as amazingly awesome at killing as _me_ to enter the games! It would just become one big joke! I mean, who could stand up to all of _this_!" I strike a pose. "And this!" I strike another. "And this!" I flex my arm and look over at some girls who are watching this charade curiously. I smile at them, winking. They roll their eyes, but I can tell they're blushing. I turn back to the group now that they're all good and laughing.

"Then again…" I trail off, stroking my chin pensively. "The glory of District one is at stake! I must volunteer!" I pause dramatically. "For my country!" I put my hand over my heart. Gander glares at me, noticing that I've stolen his thunder.

"Since when are you so _amazing_ at killing? I don't see you at the training center anymore," he snaps, raising his voice above the laughter of the group. They all turn to me expectantly, knowing that Gander's just walked into something big. I smile.

"I'm glad you asked," I say. I jump up onto the step of one of the nearby buildings, so I'm looking down on them all. I spread my arms wide. "Do you remember that enormous bear that escaped from the Capital zoo this spring?" I ask them.

"Yeah, but the peacekeepers caught it!" one guy says, though they all watch me fixedly.

"Lies!" I break in. "The peacekeepers were at a loss as to what to do about this enormous bear. For it was a mutt, bred to be particularly vicious and large." I smile. "You all heard about it; that much is true, but I didn't! You'll remember that I wasn't in school for about a week that April. The truth is, I was hunting the bear." I pause to give them time to shoot disbelieving glances at each other. In truth, I just hadn't felt like going to school that week. I'd needed to light a fire, and ever since the adults in town had spotted me setting some contained ones in garbage cans in the forest, I'd been careful not to light _anything_ up, period. That had led to some pent up emotions, and I'd just needed some alone time to myself. I shake off my momentary lapse, continuing with my story.

"Weeks before that, I'd noticed that the stash of food I kept near the river wasn't there anymore. I kept refilling it, but it would keep getting eaten. I managed to deduce that it was some sort of animal, and a predator at that, since all I had there were chunks of jerky. I decided to take a week off to go and get rid of the thing once and for all!" I raise my fist in the air triumphantly.

"So I made some torches out of tar and stray sticks, and stole some weapons from the training center. I set my trap." They all lean in now, starting to believe me, starting to get caught up in the story. I see more guys just coming to the square start to join in the huddle.

"I laid chunks of jerky down in a trail from my usual stash, and set up a net that I could trip with my sword. I waited. And then." I took a breath. They all leaned in. "The beast came. He was enormous, at least as big as those furry crocodile mutts they had in the games last year. His fur was grey and falling out, and he had enormous tusks and teeth, bigger than any normal bear. I knew my net wouldn't work, but I had to try. The bear approached the setup, and when he was right on top of me, I sprang the trap!" I make a quick motion with my hands, and they all jump.

"He was barely two inches off the ground, but I charged, stabbing him in the side and waving my torch. The branch holding the net snapped, and he charged me!"

"What happened then?" someone shouts. The group has gotten even larger.

"He wounded me, got me with his tusks," I say gravely, lifting my left pant leg for all to see. Some guys take a step back while others approach, too curious for their own good. What they'll see is a scar. It could be from anywhere. "But that wasn't the end of it!" I cry. "When the bear charged again, I managed to leap onto its back, driving my sword into its neck before it crashed the both of us into a tree. It died with the blood pouring up between my fingers." I raise my hand up to my face and peer out at them through my digits. "The peacekeepers found it the next day, dead as a doorknob with no explanation. I only know about that because when I came back, I found out about the whole thing on the news. Imagine my surprise when I heard the peacekeepers took the credit for my kill." I cross my arms and shake my head sadly, then jump down from the step. Everyone clears a path for me.

"So if I were you, I'd watch out when volunteering. If I can kill a bear, who knows what I could do to a mere human getting in my way." They all shake their heads, laughing, but it is a nervous kind of laughter. At least some of them think I'm telling the truth. After all, I have the wound to prove it. I walk away victorious from the mass of people after they all break up to talk about my latest escapade. It's a lonely existence, my life, but it's a glamorous one.

* * *

**District 1 Isis Jane McKinney, 16**

* * *

I am lying on my bed, still seething from the argument when mom comes upstairs to get me ready for the reapings.

"Are you okay honey?" she asks. I ignore the question.

"You know your father's just worried," she continues, sitting down on the plush covers of my bed. "In fact, I'm worried. The games aren't exactly the quest for glory District one often makes them out to be." When I still stay silent at her words, she sighs, and leans back onto the pillows with me. "I'll tell you a secret," she finally says. "Your father didn't tell me about his plans. I thought…I thought he'd killed himself…for me." We are both quiet for a time. I've never heard my mother speak like this to me about her time in the games. She mostly just ignores the whole experience, only telling me certain details about dad and what a great surprise it was when they discovered she was pregnant with me five weeks after the whole ordeal. Now that I think about it, my mother seems less affected by the games than others, except for an unwillingness to leave my father's side. The other victors I've met actually seem kind of…broken, and I don't think my mom is just yet. She's only fragile.

"I could have died right there and then as well, Isis," Mom breaks in, feeling the need to continue her story. "The games are hard, and they're even harder when you fall in love. All that worry…I thought my fears had finally come to pass…" she trails off and abruptly sits up. I rise to meet her, and she puts her arm around my shoulders.

"I just wanted to tell you that," she says finally. It's almost like she's thinking: "_In case you don't come back._" I'm glad she doesn't though, it would have just made me scared, and when I get scared, I usually get angry.

"Let's get you ready!" My mom says suddenly, breaking my train of thought. I shake myself and nod, a small smile on my lips. Getting dressed up is always fun.

Mom disappears into her room to get my dress, which she picked out herself, just like all the other reapings. This time it's a rich blue color, with layers of draped chiffon over an underskirt that rests just above my knees. It's beautiful. Mom helps me with hair and makeup too, but when I'm ready to dive into my jewelry box for the finishing touches, she stops me.

"Wait," she says, and starts to unclasp her own necklace. It's an intricately carved, dark blue choker. I feel my mouth drop open as she takes it off and places it around my own neck. My mom wears this same necklace every day, touching it constantly as if it will bring her some sort of comfort. I reach up and brush the smooth stones myself, gazing in awe at my appearance.

"That was my token when I went into the games," mom says quietly. She almost looks like she wants to tear up at the sight of me. "It will always manage to bring the wearer good luck, been in our family for generations actually." She squeezes my shoulders. "You look beautiful."

I smile as I turn and give her a big hug. When I have a family, I can only hope to be half the mother she is to me.

"Oh, sweetie, we better get going!" she says, pulling away from me and checking the time on her watch. "I wouldn't want you to miss volunteering now would I?" I smile at her one last time as we both exit my room, although I can't help thinking about how sad my mom looked when she said that last part.

* * *

**District 1 Korrin Shandly, 17**

* * *

I gnaw on the core of my apple like a dog, sucking and worrying at the meager flesh until I have to give up and throw the useless thing in one of the waste receptacles. I'm still hungry, but it's better than nothing. I look around at the people surrounding me. Everyone is dressed up for the reapings, which are set to start in less than half an hour. I'm already standing in the seventeen year olds section, staring idly at the boys and girls trickling in around me. The boys all wear suits and button downs with brand spanking new pairs of dress shoes shiny with polish. The girls vary more in dress, from full length ball gowns to figure hugging things that barely cover their butts.

I notice a group of these girls giggling together in the sixteen year olds section. They notice me looking, and start blushing. I smile and wink at them, rubbing the back of my already sloppy hair with one hand when their backs are turned. I'm about to go over there when I catch my name being said behind me, where all the parents are gathered off to the side, everybody packed in shoulder to shoulder. I turn to the side to hear the conversation better.

"-and he said Korrin! _My_ _son_ said Korrin would volunteer! So he doesn't want to now!" one of the mothers is saying in apparent outrage. "I mean, _that thing_? He wouldn't last two seconds in the arena with those monsters District two keeps pumping out!" There's a murmur of assent from the rest of the adults.

"Not to mention his little _problem_," another of the mothers adds. "Some people even say he's crazy!" I clench my fists. Crazy am I? Think I've got a problem? Say it to my face, why don't you! Actually, no, don't say it at all!

"Did you hear what happened to his parents, Emmie?" another says. "Your kid was in the games that year, so I expect you wouldn't really be paying attention to anything else, so we'll tell you. You remember Mr. and Mrs. Shandly? Those poor souls who died in that house fire seven years ago? Well…he was their son!"

"No!" one of the mothers, probably Emmie, titters.

"Yes! And you know with _his problem_ that he's the one who set it! It's just common sense! I mean, the house of a kid with pyromania just happens to burn down with his parents inside? It's not a coincidence, I'm telling you!"

"And he just got away with that?" Emmie asks.

"It's not like the peacekeepers can prove anything! He was just a kid at the time."

At this point, they fade into mutters and random questions about the flammability of plaster, but the damage is done. I'm so mad I think I'm shaking. The accident, that stupid thing that destroyed the fragile equilibrium I had with the people of District one. Not the relationship with my parents, no. That had died the same day, just a little earlier.

I can't believe this. Who do they think they are? Judging me? They don't know what I've been through, how many doctors my parents shunted me around to visit! Deriad was the least annoying out of all of them, and nothing the others ever gave me lessened my problem anymore. I still hated the dark and the cold, I still needed fire.

Looking back on it, I think I always knew deep down that my parents were more than a little afraid of me. My dad kept pushing me to train hard, every single day without fail. I think he was just terrified that if I got myself some spare time, I would burn the house down or something.

It wasn't what it looked like, but still, how would they know? Those posh parents wouldn't approach me with a ten foot stick. They think I'm some sort of disgusting dog, not fit to volunteer. To them, I have no chance of winning. Something inside me clicks. Why not volunteer? It's my second to last year, not many chances left. I already told a bunch of people I'd be volunteering, and now they don't even want to, just because of that dumb story I told! I can win the games. I can come back and live in my mansion and become a rich, old victor, laughing in the stunned faces of all those people who think I'm not worthy to lick the dirt off their shoes. I'll do it. I'll volunteer.

* * *

**District 1 Isis Jane McKinney, 16**

* * *

Katie Mae is waiting for me, already in the sixteen year olds section when I arrive with my mom. She waves at me.

"Oh wow!" Katie says when I approach. "You look amazing! What's this necklace?" She points at the choker.

"It was my mom's token in her games, she gave it to me," I reply. "You know, for luck."

"Don't worry, you'll totally get to volunteer!" Katie says cheerily, turning to look at the enormous stage in front of us.

I smile to myself, already feeling the excited atmosphere of the main square in District one. The place looks even better than usual, decorated for the reapings and everything. Small children run around their parent's legs, generally getting underfoot and looking very cute while doing so. I can't help but feel a bit jealous of the parents. They get to wake up every morning and see those shining faces, knowing they brought them into the world…it's so very sweet. I find myself thinking about how great it would be if I had a family of my own, and also how I'm volunteering for the hunger games, the same games my parents met during. Wouldn't it be romantic if I met a guy during the games? It would be like history repeating itself.

My thoughts are interrupted by the escort climbing onto the stage. It seems I've missed the mayor's speech while lost in my own thoughts. I turn to watch, getting excited. Our escort's name is Heidi or something. She's pretty eccentric, at least by my standards. Her entire face is one big tattoo of what looks like clown makeup, only in dark purple colors. In addition, she's always wearing these voluminous black skirts and Victorian headdresses that seem to take up the entire stage. I wonder how she walks through doors.

"Ladies and gentleman!" she says dramatically. We all settle down. "The time has come to choose the lucky boy and girl who will be competing in this year's Hunger Games!" We all applaud.

"For the girls," she says. Katie Mae smiles at me expectantly, but I'm freezing up. Will I even make it to the stage? What if I _don't_ win? The last thought banishes my indecision. I have to win. I've trained my whole life for this, and I will succeed. The escort draws a name.

"Len-"

"I volunteer!" I shout at the top of my lungs. The escort looks miffed that I interrupted her, but she beckons me forward all the same. Katie shoots me a delighted look, though almost all the other girls are glaring daggers at me. They were probably waiting for the escort to finish before racing for the stage.

I climb the stairs eagerly, touching my mom's necklace and smiling at everyone. The escort smiles at me, albeit forcefully.

"And what's your name?" she asks, handing me the microphone.

"Isis Jane McKinney," I reply promptly.

"What a mouthful," Heidi mutters before taking the microphone. Nobody hears this, but it serves to wipe the smile off my face. Still, I just successfully volunteered. I'll get to be angry at people plenty later. For now, I can just sit back and wait for my district partner to volunteer. Hopefully he'll be handsome.

* * *

**District 1 Korrin Shandly, 17**

* * *

I watch that Capital fool Heidi waddle over to the boy's bowl over from the place where that girl who just volunteered, Isis, is standing. The girl looks great, I have to say, but she seems like one of those stuck up rich brats. In fact, I think I've seen her walking home from school in the direction of the victor's village. So she's an entitled rich brat. Still, she looks pretty hot in her dress, just like all the other girls. Heidi reaches into the boy's bowl, and lifts one paper delicately from the top.

"Jarret Blinknell!" she calls out. A tall, gangly fifteen year old rushes up to the stage, looking pretty disappointed. There's no way he'll get into the games now. Anyone with an able body volunteers in District one. Sometimes you don't even need _that_. I take a deep breath, shooting looks at guys who also look like they might run for the stage as if to say: You sure you want to do that?

"Do I have any volunteers?" Heidi asks breathily, and I start to sprint. Very few people actually follow me, compared to last year at least. Maybe my story really did scare a chunk of them off. Gander seems not to have heeded my warning, unluckily for him. He takes the lead from me, laughing his head off, thinking that he's beaten me. He runs for the stairs, but at the last moment, I trip him, and he falls face first onto the paved surface of the town square. I see others are also aiming for the stairs after him, so I decide to take a different route, launching myself up onto the stage straight from the ground, and landing with a thud. I stand up and brush myself off smartly, smirking at the pileup surrounding Gander's fallen form, people still trying to move past him to get to the stairs.

"We have a volunteer! What's your name?" Heidi booms into the microphone. She brings the device to me as a giant groan comes up from the guy's side. "Korrin Shandly," I say clearly, smiling at all of the shocked and angry faces below me. Serves them right.

I turn to shake hands with my new district partner, Isis. I give her a smile and a wink, and she giggles, blushing beet red. We shake hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes! Isis Jane McKinney, and Korrin Shandly!" Heidi says, smiling and gesturing to us. I manage to smirk one last time at the cameras before the Peacekeepers lead Isis and me away. She won't stop blushing and smiling at me, and although I've flirted a lot with girls before, no one has ever reacted this strongly. I mean, I knew I was handsome, just not _that _handsome.


	4. District 2 Reapings

**A/N: **_Hi everybody! This chapter will be a little different, and even though I never recieved a D2 male, I kind of tweaked some things from a tribute I recieved so that it would work. Also, last chapter's tributes were from** Rosemarie Benson**, and **nightfuries**, sorry guys! This chapter's tributes are from the anonymous reviewer **Amefefefefee**. I now have all of D3, but if I'm to continue the reapings at this pace, I really need tributes, especially all of D4, and the D5 female, since their reaping's are coming up the fastest. So tell your family tell your friends! I hope you guys enjoy._

* * *

I run to escape, panting so hard my chest hurts. Behind me I can hear him, feet pounding and branches cracking as he whips past the trees surrounding us on all sides. I see a clearing up ahead, and put on a burst of speed to make it to the open space, getting a feeling that I will be safe once I make it out of the forest. But something goes wrong. The moment I enter the clearing, time stalls. Suddenly, I'm running in slow motion. My limbs are too heavy to lift, and soon, too soon, the person chasing me comes into view. It is my eighteen year old brother, Shane.

He is twirling his sword around so fast it looks like a bright slice going through the air. I still can't move, though my heart is pounding fast enough to burst, and my knees are even knocking together. _Poor stance_, I think vaguely. Shane laughs contemptuously. I start to hyperventilate as he draws closer, and collapse onto the ground, shaking. He looms over me, his sword ready. He looks me up and down, shaking his head, smiling and clicking his tongue.

"You can't win with a stance like that!" he laughs. "Try it like _this_." He raises his sword, and swings at my head.

I wake up gasping for air, feet kicking and wrestling the sheets while my hands grasp at phantom pains in my neck. I try to get a grip, but my heart's beating too hard. It's okay, I tell myself. It's okay. It's just a dream. I try to focus on the details of my room to get the image of my brother's last smile out of my head. The walls are a nice, reassuring white. My window is still dirty and grimy with stone dust. My sheets are still rough and thin. The faded rugs from my childhood still lie on the floor. I calm down enough to slowly lower my head back onto the pillow. The peace doesn't last long though.

Shane strides quickly into the room, though I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to notice his ominous presence. Looks like it wasn't just a dream after all.

"Get up Shantal! It's the reapings for God's sake!" He shoves my shoulder so hard I almost fall out of the bed, but this is nothing new. I stagger to my feet, trying not to meet his angry glare as I stumble around, shedding pajamas and putting on clean clothes. Modesty has ceased to become an issue for me. I once complained, but he made the argument that pushing him out of the room wouldn't allow him to keep an eye on me. I don't talk back with Shane.

* * *

I emerge from the bathroom to find him standing in the doorway of my bedroom, waiting.

"Are we training today?" I grumble under my breath. He laughs. That is the only response I get.

The two of us trudge through our small, two bedroom house. I am behind him, as usual. He always leads. We stop in front of his and dad's room, where he shoots a glance at me as if telling me to sit still and be quiet, like a good dog. He enters the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. This leaves me alone with my thoughts.

I try to figure out what time it is. Probably six in the morning. Shane is always an early riser. At the thought of him, I cringe. My dream last night (or was it this morning?) was worse than usual, probably because it's reaping day. I don't know why I would be worried though. Everyone in the district volunteers, and even though I take tesserae, someone is sure to take the honor of competing in the Hunger Games from me.

The door in front of me opens, and I can hear dad coughing behind it, though Shane is quick to close it. I didn't know dad was so sick that he couldn't leave the bed. I try to catch a glimpse of our father, but Shane glares at me.

"Get going," he says menacingly. I turn without making a sound. It's often the best way to deal with Shane. I make it down to the basement, still following him. He turns on the lights and they flicker, illuminating our humble, yet personal, training center. There are a few old workout machines taken from the back of the official building. I see the old beat up punching bag, and the weapons sitting in their special places on the wall. Shane grabs his favored sword and swings it through the air, testing its weight, as he does every morning. I go over to the punching bag and wait. Shane turns to me.

"Go ahead," he mutters. "No one's stopping you." I clench my fists, letting my anger turn to power. He would have punished me if I'd started before he told me. It's always this way. I give a kick to the bag, bringing my uncovered fist towards it as it swings back around, ignoring the sting that accompanies the attack. I've done this too many times to count, warming up this way, always the same. Each routine similar, yet Shane always manages to surprise me. I hate surprises. I let out an angry breath through clenched teeth, sending the punching bag another solid hit. Shane watches me, analyzing everything I do. Once, I used to perfect my stance under his scrutiny, but now I don't need to. It has become second nature.

"You're too skinny," he says, encircling one of my arms with his hand and shaking it roughly. This messes me up, and when the punching bag comes back at me, it crashes into me, sending me stumbling back. "One hit can knock you over," he finishes, smirking, yet somehow angry at the same time. I steel my teeth against the insults. I have to control myself, I have to. I know what happens if I can't. I've tried before.

I stand ready behind the punching bag as I watch Shane shove it forwards, putting all of his muscle into it, as if he's trying to knock me over. I brace myself. Feet firm, knees solid, thumb tucked, arms taught. Attack. I punch the bag back at him, letting out a grunt as my anger overwhelms me. A thousand voices are threatening to push out of me, screaming at me to scream at him. I release them in the attack, just as I always do. Shane catches the bag, allowing me the pleasure of seeing him step back under the force. I have succeeded.

"Don't get cocky," he says. "I want to see you _sweat_, I want to see you work!" he points at the ground. "Sit ups." I don't ask how many. Our unspoken rule is that he will stop me when he thinks I've had enough.

It is grueling, my training. Shane makes sure I can do at least fifty sit ups in a minute, always pushing me to do them faster, work harder. I'm panting like a dog, my shirt soaked in sweat and my muscles crying as I bring my head back up to my knees. Shane grinds his heel into my foot, making me wince.

"Not _good enough_!" he shouts. I try, I truly do. If I don't try, the pain will only get worse, even if my stomach is already on fire. Eventually I collapse, and Shane nods in grudging satisfaction.

"Pushups!" he cries, kicking me in the back, his toenails digging into my already sore muscles. I roll over onto my arms and start, wanting to make it so that he doesn't have the pleasure of seeing me collapse again. Almost sensing my thoughts, Shane puts a foot on my back and pushes down.

"Kiss the ground," he says.

* * *

Eventually, Shane becomes mollified with the number of pushups I can do, as well as pull-ups, and even weights. He walks over to where his old, chipped sword is, and picks it up lovingly.

"Swords," he says, then turns to me. "Get up, we're going to practice." I step off the old fashioned treadmill I was practicing on and cross to my own weapon, a sword just like his.

"Where?" I ask. He smiles sadistically.

"The usual place."

Shane meets me outside in the same clearing from my dream. It's not the same forest I don't think, but the space I could never forget. It's where all my greatest tortures and triumphs have occurred. Shane swings his sword around, just like in my dream.

"I hope you've improved from last time," he snaps, bringing the sword down with a _swoosh_. I shrug, letting a small smile escape. Shane narrows his eyes, nodding to my own sword, which I'm leaning on.

"Well get ready," he says.

"I _am_ ready." Shane sighs in annoyance, flicking blond hair out of his eyes. He turns slightly to the side, and without warning, he attacks.

Shane is fast, I know this. He comes at me from the side, swinging hard with both arms. I smile as I feel a rush from the adrenaline. I tense my legs and flick my sword upward, flinging dirt into Shane's face. He stumbles back, and is only just able to catch my backhanded strike on the handle of his own sword. He grunts from the pressure.

My eyes zone in on his movements, watching his body shift and lean so I can tell where he'll strike next. I swing around him and attack from behind, but he ducks, going at my legs in the same motion. We edge around each other this way, until I manage to actually confront him and make a lung directly at his heart. At the last moment though, I weaken my arm, and he manages to fling my steel away at the last minute. He's panting hard, and even I can feel the blood singing in my veins, but it feels good. He's looks like he's working. I feel like I'm playing.

I bring my sword down with both hands, putting my full weight into the attack, but Shane sidesteps, crashing into me with his shoulder to send me sprawling on the ground. I let my sword fly from my hand as I crash, though I have to take a moment to hide my smile before I roll over to face the tip of his sword.

"You're still worthless," Shane intones. "It's been months and you haven't improved. How do you expect to win, huh? _How_?!" He raises his weapon, bringing it down on my head, just like in my dream. I close my eyes, and he starts to laugh. I open my eyelids a smidge. His sword is hovering right over my head, close enough to make me gasp and shuffle away. Shane laughs again, though humorlessly.

"You think you can slack off because dad's sick? Think again!" he slams his sword in the open ground between my legs, and leans in close to my face. "I want to see _results_, or next time my hand won't be so accurate." He walks away, leaving his sword standing upright in the dirt, quivering with the remnants of his rage. I slow down my heartbeat, and it's only when I'm sure Shane is back at the house that I let out the nervous laughter I've been keeping in all during the fight. I was holding back. I could have ended the fight at any time, could have slipped my sword in through the chinks in his defense, but I didn't.

I stand up and yank his sword out of the dirt, still holding my own, if limply. I start to walk back to my house slowly, shaking my head at Shane's anger. Maybe I shouldn't hold back so much in the next fight, but…then I might win. I've never beaten Shane. I don't know what'll happen. I don't want to know. It's even kind of nice, knowing that I hold some form of power over him, and it's the best kind of power too. The secret kind.

I walk into the house, and find that Shane is with my father again in their room. I ignore them. If Shane catches me eavesdropping…

After I put the swords away I decide to get ready for the reapings. It always pays to be early for things, and it's around twelve anyways. I put on the same dress I wore last year and the year before that, and head out, stealing the last roll from the pantry and scarfing it down. I think I might have to take more tesserae next year if we're already so low on food. Oh well.

I walk through the paved streets of Two, looking around at the others who have decided to go down to the reapings early. I'm certainly the only sweaty one. I see most of the girls who've gone to the career academy are already out on the street, dressed to the nines. I try to walk past them while simultaneously leaning over to listen in on their conversation. However, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Aahh!" I yell, whirling around and skittering away from the human contact. I stop when I see who it is. Adelaide.

"Oh, it's you." I try not to let my voice betray my relief. I thought it was Shane. Adelaide blushes scarlet, putting her hands away safely behind the folds of her bright red dress.

"Um…hi Shantal," she says, falling into step beside me as we start to walk toward the town's center. I suppose I could call Adelaide a friend, if I had friends. She just started following me around one day in elementary school, and I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it's because of the bullies that like to tease her for her tiny size. She wants protection from them.

"Do you know who's volunteering this year?" Adelaide asks innocently in her oh so sweet voice. I tense.

"I was _trying_ to find out when you up and _jumped_ me," I grumble, glaring at the smooth cobblestones of the street. We pass shops and stores, which means we're coming close to the square where the reapings are. Streamers are starting to appear along the storefronts, mocking me with their cheerfulness.

"Oh…I'm sorry," Adelaide replies after a moment. I shrug.

"_Sure_."

I stop suddenly next to another group of girls clustered off to the side of the road. They look happy, smiling and laughing at each other's jokes. Adelaide stops with me.

"Hey!" I shout at them, barging into the group with abandon. The smiles melt off their faces.

"Oh, it's _you_," one of the girls says sarcastically. "Why don't you just leave us alone? God knows everybody else does the same to you." The others laugh, and I roll my eyes, smirking. These girls are all careers; I can tell by the way they hold themselves, leaning forward, toned muscles tense, always looking for a fight.

"You must think you're so cute," I reply, crossing my arms. "I just wanted to know who was thinking of volunteering." The girls all roll their eyes, and the one who first spoke to me smiles.

"We all were, duh. But why do you care anyways? It's not like you're volunteering. You haven't even been trained!" Another wave of laughter hits me like a ton of bricks, but this is nothing compared to Shane. Absolutely nothing.

"But you haven't either!" I say in a falsetto voice, mimicking their tones.

"Seriously? Where do you think we've been for the past year?!" the girl cries, quickly becoming annoyed.

"I don't know. I just thought you wouldn't come back, and that I wouldn't have to see you're ugly mugs anymore. Isn't that why you're parents sent you away?" The girl's smile falls off her face as she blushes a deep red.

"Why you little…!" Her hands ball into fists as she stares daggers at me, and suddenly, her fist is flying towards my stomach. I stagger backwards, only just avoiding the powerful blow. She smirks as I try to regain my balance. "You want to mess with a career, you pay the price," she says. The others smile as well, and I nearly snarl.

"Oh, I'll mess with you all right!" I start to form a fist, but the girl shakes her head and smiles, withdrawing a wicked knife from inside the lining of her dress. I glare at it.

"Ah, ah, ah!" she laughs. "You're at a disadvantage!" I relax my hands, then smile.

"No I'm not." I make a sweeping kick with my right leg, but I forget that she's trained, and she blocks it. She makes a slash at me with her knife, but I manage to catch her wrist and punch her in the stomach. The grip on her knife slackens, and I'm able to wrest it from her grasp.

"Take this!" I shout, and cut downwards with the knife. There's a scream. I gasp, staring at the knife. There's blood on the tip. I look up, and the career girl is staggering away from me, her hand to her face as blood seeps between her fingers.

"Oh my god," a voice says. I turn and see that it's Adelaide who's spoken. "I…thought you said you weren't trained."

"I just…my brother wouldn't let me…I couldn't go…" I'm speechless at the look of horror and disgust on her face, on all of their faces. There is a hand on my shoulder, and the knife is pried away from me with rough hands.

"You're coming with us miss," a deep voice behind me says. I gasp, and turn to stare up at the face of a peacekeeper. There are two more behind him, which is too bad. I think I could have handled one, but three? No way. I eye the guns raised and aimed at me, feeling my pulse hitch.

I turn and see the girl I was fighting surrounded by her friends, who are now helping her towards a nearby hospital. One of them turns back to me, and gives me a look of pure venom. "We'll get you for this freak!" she screams, before running to catch up to her other friends. They all shoot me similar glares, all except the girl I injured, who is still holding her face in her hands. I feel a stab of guilt. Did I really do that? I could have killed her. The peacekeeper holding my shoulder now starts to push me along, and I feel panic start to rise in me as I see Adelaide and the others begin to walk away from me as well.

"What's…what's going to happen to me? Where are you taking me?!" I cry. The peacekeeper doesn't reply immediately, not until we are at the center of the town, where everyone has started to gather for the reapings.

"Violence towards a potential tribute, and on reaping day, is forbidden. Your punishment will be swift," he replies. I'm confused. Shouldn't they be taking me to the jail? To a whipping post? Maybe I still have to attend the reapings before my beating?

"What's my punishment?" I ask.

"Depends," he says. "We'll just have to wait until after the reapings." He signs me in, then pushes me into the crowd of teenagers just waiting to volunteer. I'm in a state of shock though, so I only manage to stumble into the fifteen year olds section.

I wait with the others already there, though when the girl's friends arrive from the hospital, they bring with them the tales of what happened on the street earlier today. Eventually, a wide space is made around me, ringed with gossiping groups all talking about my attack.

I see Shane come, just a mere five minutes early. Our father doesn't accompany him, and I fight down the terror I get when I see this. It must mean that dad is too sick to go to the reapings. He's on death's door. I turn away from Shane, trying not to make eye contact. The Mayor stands up from his chair on the stage next to all the other victors. There are about ten of them in total. A few are taking discreet sips from flasks in their pockets; others are cleaning their nails with knives. All look downright intimidating.

Eventually, the escort takes the stage. Our escort is a guy with an enormous Mohawk, and he might be male, but he still wears outrageous sparkly heels. Maybe it's common in the Capitol? He manages to make it to the microphone without tripping.

"Alright everybody, let's get this party started!" he cries, making a sort of gesture with his hand that I'm sure means something in the Capitol. "We'll start with the girls!" he draws a slip from the enormous glass bowl on his right.

"Sh-!"

"I volunteer!" scream sixty girls at once. There is a mad dash for the stage, the stampeding horde attacking each other on sight as one person grabs the lead, only to have it snatched away by another. One girl seems to be making some headway, however, using her shoes as real weapons. There seem to be knives in place of the heels. Suddenly, there's a roar from the guy's section, and I see Shane sprinting towards the stage as well. For a second, I think he's trying to volunteer early, but then I see that his goal is not the stage. It's the girl in the lead with the steel shoes. Terror runs through me as I realize what he's trying to do.

Shane reaches the girl, and time slows for me. He grabs her arms, which seems small compared to his enormous build, and flings her away from him. She hits the edge of the stage and collapses on the ground, unmoving. I'm not sure, but I think one of her shoes scrapes the edge of her face. There's blood there. All the girls gasp and stare at this sight: the girl, and my brother looming over her. Nobody seems sure of what to do. I look at the escort, and he seems shocked as well, even as he stutters out the rest of the name that started all this. My name.

"Shantal Beaumont…please come to the stage," the escort says stiffly. The rest of the girls are edging away from Shane, who is standing in a relaxed, yet menacing pose. I know it well. It's the way he stands before he makes his move. I walk slowly to the stage, avoiding his piercing gaze.

"Let's, um, have a round of applause for our District Two female tribute!" There is a smattering of clapping, but it quickly dies out. Whatever anybody was expecting, it wasn't this.

"Well, why don't I draw the boy's name?" the escort says nervously, though he's trying to regain some composure.

"That won't be necessary!" Shane shouts. "I volunteer." He vaults himself up onto the stage.

"Okay then! What's your name?" the escort asks, slightly anxious about having him so close.

"Shane Beaumont."

"Oh! Well, are you two related?"

"_No_." I say sharply, leaning over to speak into the microphone.

"Well alright!" The escort looks positively baffled now. "Ladies and gentlemen, your um, District Two tributes! Shane and Shantal Beaumont!" he raises both our hands in the air, and there is some weak, if shocked, cheering. "_Shake hands_," the escort whispers. I narrow my eyes.

"Fat chance," I reply, and walk off the stage before the peacekeepers can lead me out. There's no way I'm talking to Shane now. Not ever, not after everything that's happened, the torture he's put me through. And now _this_. I never wanted to be in the games, though Shane made me train so hard I almost cried. After hours of holding a sword, sometimes I didn't ever want to see one again. Now I'm going to be surrounded by people trying to kill me. Shane will be trying to kill me.

* * *

I manage to keep myself composed while the peacekeepers catch up with me and lead me to a room in the Justice Building. I hear the door lock behind me, and then and only then do I allow myself to let out a scream of rage. Some angry tears leak from my eyes, and I plunk myself down on the luxurious couch in the center of the room, my head resting heavily on my hands.

No one comes to say goodbye. Not even my dad, although I wasn't surprised by that. He might be dead already. Right now I'm going into the Hunger games. I'm going to need to collect my thoughts. After all, my brother is going to kill me in a few days. Why else did he volunteer? Then again…we're both going into the games. He won't be the only one who's going to be able to kill. I can pay him back for everything he's done to me over the years, every time he told me I was worthless, every time he slapped or pushed or punched me. I will pay him back in full, and it'll be _my_ face he sees in his nightmares.


End file.
